Albalf took another look at the dark, mirror-like surface of his palm-sized, round medallion. His intuition was screaming that something terrible was happening, but the medallion showed absolutely nothing unusual. Everything was in its place, everything went in its turn, and his invisible observers remained completely at peace. But still, something was off. Scratching his barely touched by gray beard, he paced back and forth in the room, unable to find a place for himself, and kept his gaze fixed on the medallion.
— Alb, why are you all flustered all of a sudden? —Lycari broke the oppressive silence, watching their leader's restlessness along with the others.
— Dear all, I... um... I don't know what, but something is wrong.
— We see, Alb, — grunted dwarf woman Ortadora, not letting go of her mug of ale, — even for you, it's strange to jump up from the table and start staring at your trinket.
— No, no, something's wrong not with me, but with... Something else. Something is happening... Somewhere.
— Did you check everything? All observers in place? All Eyes? The Breach? — Only Havhang clearly shared Albalf's anxiety, squeezing and releasing his small but strong fists.
— Shardin, Zetdar, Kalive, Morrad, Erdan, Provenmar, Ozenlod - all calm, everything goes in its turn. Gorag sleeps peacefully, guarding the Eye. Even the Breach is surprisingly quiet today, no victims at the Fort. The other Sanctuaries and Eyes are all in place, untouched. But... um... There's something somewhere...
— Well, folks, if Alb says there's something somewhere - then there's something somewhere! — Havhang grabbed his, as he considered, two-handed sword, — Only what? And where?
Albalf shook the medallion: he had spent so long carefully placing observers all over the world to always be on guard, and still they couldn't keep track of everything. He was missing something, but what?
— If your observers don't see this, there are three options, — Lycari rose from the table and extended her thin, pale white hand to Albalf to give her the medallion, — Either the event is being carefully hidden, or there are no observers where this something is happening, or you don't see what they see.
The elf peered into the medallion, as Alb had done moments before, and before her, replacing each other one by one, began to pass visions of various rooms, landscapes, city streets, mountain ridges, caves and other places where the sorcerer had placed his observers. Everything indeed was very peaceful, even disturbingly so. Maybe that's why the leader of the Seekers felt that something was off? And yet, he is the leader because when something "seems" with his intuition - it is very likely that it is not just seeming. Lycari looked again at the fleeting visions: her eyes, trained to see the smallest details, managed to capture them, as if she was looking at a picture right in front of her for a long time. And, to her horror, in one of these pictures she did see what Albalf's hunch was pointing at.
— Oh, my, I'd say she almost turned pale, but she's already... — Havhang attempted to make a joke, but caught the intense stares of his companions, — Ahem... Sorry.
— Lycari, what is it? What did you see? — Alb leaned forward, trying to see what the medallion was showing.
— I hope I'm mistaken, but... Tell me, how many fissures are there on the Portal?
— You mean to say that...
— How many? — the elf raised her voice.
— Yes, how many? Are we counting them? — Havhang exclaimed loudly in response.
— Six, — Ortadora melancholically took a sip from her massive mug.
— Yes, six, — confirmed Kevgen, who had been silent until now.
— Now there are seven, — Lycari abruptly handed the medallion back to its owner and clasped her head, — Another one appeared. Alb didn't notice, but he felt it.
— Oh, Abyss! — Havhang, mimicking his companion, also clutched his head, — W-What does this mean?
— It means that now is not the time to call upon the Abyss unnecessarily...
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They chased her, she could feel it. Two enormous, dark creatures, woven from the shadows, swept everything in their path, closing in on her. The terrified townspeople scattered, and the guard who tried to stop the monsters was simply crushed and torn apart. Rapsamash abruptly turned into one of the many narrow alleyways, hoping that the hounds wouldn't be able to squeeze through after her. She had to keep running, she had to warn her people, she couldn't let them fall into the trap! She glanced back at a strange scraping sound: one of the dogs, as if shrinking in size, followed her down the alley, leaving peculiar marks on the walls as if scratching them with its impenetrably black skin. There was no doubt—they were following her. But where was the second one? The girl quickened her pace, the medallions on her tattered dress jingling in rhythm with her footsteps. According to her estimation, she should be getting close to the mines, but the noise of the city and the tolling of the bell made it difficult to discern where her congeners might be at that moment. There was only one option — run to the mines. Run, run! A black shadow leaped out in front of her. Startled, Rapsamash let out a scream, quickly turned around, and ran in the opposite direction, but the dark creature behind her was also getting close. She found herself trapped in the alleyway —this was where the second hound had disappeared to — they had her cornered like prey on a hunt. The black monsters drew nearer, deliberately slowing down, as if knowing that their prey had nowhere left to run. But they didn't rush to attack. Her heart pounded, her hands trembled. What should she do? What should she do?! Fight? Raps tightened her grip on the blade in her hand, desperately contemplating how she could deal with these creatures that had easily overwhelmed the guards. They inched closer, step by step. Slowly, surely, inexorably. What should she do?! Rapsamash prepared herself, gripping Suvirvaka with both hands, breathing heavily, and turning her head to one hound, then to the other, waiting for one of them to finally pounce on her. The sun's rays, reflecting off the golden medallions, played on the walls of the houses, seemingly in contrast to the shadows that surrounded the girl. And then it struck her: the rooftops! A mental command to her blade—and in an instant, it transformed into a steel whip, and there she was, Rapsamash, swinging it above her, aiming the hooked end at the gap between the flat roofs of the houses. Sensing something amiss, the hounds swiftly lunged forward, but it was already too late—grabbing onto the roof, the girl literally soared into the air, climbing up the wall of the house to safety. Standing on the rooftop, she tried to reorient herself. The domes of the palace and the square in front of it were far behind her, which meant she didn't have much further to run. The black creatures were scurrying below: at one point, Raps thought they, like Suvirvaka, were elongating, attempting to climb up onto the rooftops, but it was just a fleeting thought—the hounds, having given up on reaching the rooftops, started looking for alternative paths, circling around the buildings. Rapsamash continued running towards the mines, jumping from roof to roof using the gaps, occasionally aided by her blade. The hounds disappeared from sight, but on some of the rooftops, there were guards in light leather armor, like Kavir
Some of them hurried towards the square, while others observed attentively what was happening on the streets. Upon catching sight of Rapsamash, they began shouting and taking aim at her with crossbows and bows. Several arrows whizzed dangerously close to her. She needed to run, run, run! She was so close! On the streets, a massacre unfolded between the city guards and the soldiers of the Commander. People in violet cloaks started appearing on rooftops, diverting the attention of the crossbowmen. Chaos reigned everywhere, with cries, tears, and pleas for help. The city was engulfed in utter mayhem, and amidst this chaos, her congeners could soon find themselves. Finally—there it was, the entrance! From above, she saw lifeless bodies of guards and a few of her own kin. The pounding of her heart became deafening. They had broken free. They had made it! All that remained was to pray that the fallen were not too many and that her loved ones were unharmed. Rapsamash looked around for the dark hounds, but they were nowhere to be seen. Deciding to descend from the rooftops back onto the street where panicked townspeople fled, the girl, without slowing down, followed in the footsteps of the slain and mangled guards, who had become savage. Fortunately, the run did not last long.
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— Raps!
— It's Raps! Raps!
— Rapsamash!
The group of Taulars moved swiftly along the street in a cohesive column. Rapsamash barely recognized the hulking figure with raised silver crests, six elongated fangs, and sharp claws, yet only three fingers on his hand — Unlad. Otherwise, one could mistake him for another monster sent after her. Several more similarly enlarged congeners were ahead of the column and on its flanks. Apparently, that was how Ittira's elixirs were supposed to work.
— To the tunnels! Run to the tunnels! Faster! — Raps shouted as she caught up with the column.
From the crowd emerged her uncle, carrying Arti in his arms. They were unharmed! Intact! Praise the Gods! Rapsamash finally caught up with the joyfully welcoming column.
— Rapsamash!
— Raps! Raps!
— She broke free! She survived!
— Hooray, Raps!
— Rapsi, I'm so glad! — Her uncle set Arti down, and together they embraced the breathless girl, pausing only for a moment, — We mustn't delay, let's hurry! Something incomprehensible is happening; the guards are fighting each other!
— Yes, Uncle, we need to go to the tunnels! Tell everyone to follow us to the tunnels! It will be the safest place, or else we'll fall into a trap!
— What? But they could simply block or barricade the passage in the tunnels, and then we...
— They don't know about the tunnels, they are outsiders! They will lead the townspeople westward.
— Who are the outsiders? What's happening?
— People! People in shiny armor and purple cloaks, they're from Shardin! They don't know about the tunnels beneath the city. I... I hope... They will guard all the gates, we won't be able to break through there.
— How do you know?
— There was this... Commander, it's his people. He ordered everyone in the city to go west and drove the slaves in the same direction.
— That... that's strange.
— Sangar, we saw for ourselves that people in purple were fighting the guards, — Arvas intevened.
— Alright, fine. Sanlad! Shallis! Let's go to the tunnels! Everyone to the tunnels! Faster, faster! No questions, we have no time, hurry up! — Uncle took off a small shoulder bag and handed it to Rapsamash. — Rapsi, take this. It has a flask of water and rations, we took them from the guards. I'm afraid this kind of nourishment will be all we have in the desert. It's for you and Arti.
Raps slung the bag over her shoulder and gently patted the head of Arti, who clung to her and seemed strangely concerned. The unrest that had momentarily subsided when the girl caught up with her congeners suddenly surged back.
— And where is Mama?
Arti tightened his grip on her hand.
— Raps, I'm sorry, your mother stayed behind. She said she would be a burden. Raps... Rapsamash! Arti!
Rapsamash no longer listened. She abruptly turned around and ran back towards the mines. Arti sprinted after her.
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— Give me the map, quickly! — Lycari commanded, while Albalf continued to gaze intently at his amulet, muttering something anxiously under his breath.
Ortidora, with a leisurely movement, pulled a scroll from her pouch and spread it out on the table in front of everyone. The parchment bore little resemblance to a map; rather, it looked like a diagram with a multitude of markings, scribbles, and annotations, hastily written in different inks.
— So, what does it say about the Abyss, and what does it have to do with the fissure? — Havhang fidgeted in his chair, frequently clutching the hilt of his sword.
— As if you don't know what's what, Hang! Do I really need to explain it now? So, what are these lines—observers? — The elf leaned over the scroll.
The dwarf silently traced her finger along it, pointing to various lines and circles.
— Dora, they all look so different! How do you understand that they are observers? How are they different from this line? Or this one? What are they even?
— I remembered, — Ortidora muttered significantly.
— Oh, may Kreneya protect us! Does anyone have a 'normal' map? Alb!
— Huh? Uh... Well, yes, I do. Hold on, — the sorcerer, without taking his eyes off the medallion, made a few sweeping gestures with his free hand in the air, skillfully catching the parchment that appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and handed it to Lycari.
— That's better. Dora, show me on this map where the observers are.
Taking another sip from her mug, Ortidora began pointing on the map with her finger. Watching her attentively, Lycari contemplated possible reasons for the appearance of another fissure. A small one, but still a fissure. Its emergence boded nothing good, always serving as a harbinger or consequence of disasters and catastrophes. Since the observers saw nothing, it was likely a harbinger. They needed to act swiftly, and if the fissure began to grow...
— Alright, dear all, I've thought about some options... — Albalf finally put aside his amulet and approached the table, — Dora, can you please get a normal map to replace this one?
The dwarf nodded and unfolded her scribbled parchment, filled with incomprehensible diagrams, on top of the map that Lycari was looking at. The elf slapped her forehead with her hand and turned away from the table.
— So, um... The observers are located here, — the sorcerer began to flawlessly repeat the movements shown by Ortidora earlier. — If we assume that... um, all three of Lycari's hypotheses are correct, then it turns out that... Besides what we have already discovered as the cause of my concerns. But not the cause of the cause... Oh well, in general, it means that someone planned it and knew how to avoid being detected by the observers, and they are acting where there are no observers."
Albalf pointed to the figures and symbols scattered across the diagram.
— If we, um... if we turn to history, the last few fissures were associated with the affairs of the Portal Cult, and those affairs, so to speak, were not pleasant at all. Hence, the likelihood that they are causing them again. But what, where, and how they managed to conceal it... remains a question. If only we had more... — Albalf scratched his beard. — Oh, well, here's what I thought: the Cult wouldn't do something that could lead to a fissure where nobody is present. It just wouldn't. Otherwise, the fissures wouldn't have appeared if it was because of them. But if the fissure continues and, God forbid, the portal actually opens, then...
— Alb, get to the point, — of all those present, only Lycari was still actively listening to the sorcerer, although her patience was wearing thin.
— Well, we need to go to the settlements where there are no observers but are large enough for... particularly dark deeds. There we'll find out what's happening, if anything. We should have enough people for that, and if it turns out to be something else, then... well... then we'll think further, depending on the situation.
— As usual, huh? So, what are these settlements?
— Uunin, Plorre, Zornadir, Derinrond, Luak'Varet.
— Alright, then I choose Pl...
— Plorre! I choose Plorre! — Suddenly enthusiastic, Havhang interrupted the elf and promptly got up from his chair, heading straight for the door.
— Oh, you little...
— I'll take Uunin, — Ortidora rolled up the scroll and tucked it back into her pouch.
— Luak'Varet, — Kevgen put on his helmet adorned with two pairs of decorative metal wings.
— What in the world... Then Zor...
— Zornadir! — Albalf clapped his hands and began retrieving various colorful gemstones from his belt pouch, — Sorry, Lycari, you have Derinrond.
— No way am I going to Derinrond! It's... it's a hot, tasteless outback quite beneath my dignity!
— Sorry, those are the rules. Everyone else spoke first.
— Well, our rules are stupid, Alb, — Lycari sighed heavily, — Fine, but next time - I'll choose out of turn!
— Um, well... alright, agreed, — Albalf arranged the gemstones in a particular order on the doorstep, — So, Hang, are you ready?
— Let's go! — The halfling unsheathed his "two-handed" sword and prepared to jump.
— Hang, I think it's better to put away the sword, as you might appear...
— No!
— Fine. Let's go, see you! — The sorcerer opened the door, revealing a literal black void beyond.
— Farewell! — Fearlessly, Hang leaped over the threshold, disappearing without a trace.
— Dora?
— Uh-huh, — the dwarf simply walked through the door without any unnecessary words, calm and confident, as if entering her own home.
— Gevken?
— It's Kevgen.
— Kevgen, right, sorry, I just have a weak memory for names.
— That's okay, — the man adjusted his unusual helmet and cautiously plunged into the void.
— Lycari?
— Why do you all annoy me so much! — the elf grumbled, tightening her shoulder bag and quiver, — When I come back, dessert is on you! And we'll change these stupid rules!
— Well, um... fair enough. And, uh, my amulet, it... um... with you?
— Always, Alb, but don't change the subject.
— I didn't intend to, I didn't. Dessert is on me, yes. After you, — the sorcerer made a theatrical bow and gestured for the lady to go ahead.
Halfway immersed in the dark void, Lycari stuck out her tongue at Albalf.